


Punk Rock Boy

by Not_You



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Punk, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angry Erik, Bar Room Brawl, Bottom Erik, Comfort Food, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark Past, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erik has Issues, Erik is a Shark, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Lust, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Nazis, Past Child Abuse, Shaw is Creepy, Showers, Tattoos, Towels, college student Charles, i can't believe that's a tag what, nazi punks fuck off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3387149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles goes to a punk gig for an anthropology paper, and things get crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'Punk Rock Girl,' by the Dead Milkmen.

Anthropology isn't Charles's field, but he likes people. If he has to take the course on his way to his biology degree, so be it. The customs of other cultures and of his own are fascinating, and he has always enjoyed fieldwork. He feels out of place in this part of the city, but the anthropologist is by definition out of place. Besides, he's not quite the old man Raven always gives him crap about being. In jeans and a t-shirt he's fairly anonymous, even without artistic rips, studs, or safety pins. His assignment is to spend a night with a subculture he does not consider himself a part of, and this town has an active punk scene. Maybe it's Charles's repressive WASP upbringing, but the DIY rage of punk fascinates him. He studies the crowd around him, all of them waiting to get into a small and dingy venue, and composes an introductory paragraph in his head.

The place looks just as bad inside as it did outside, but it's mostly clean, and Charles goes to the bar to beat the rush. There's an opening band setting up, and in deference to tradition, they're pretty terrible. They're so bad it's kind of earnest and sweet, and Charles is pulling for them even as they savage his eardrums. The place fills up during their set, and they finally give way for the reason anyone showed up.

Magneto is a slightly famous band. A huge deal in the local scene, and some people outside of it have actually heard of them. They're one of those inclusive, anti-racist groups, with an openly gay lead singer. He's also gorgeous, but Charles had only learned that after deciding to go to a Magneto gig, so he can enjoy it in the consciousness of virtue. A roar goes up as he grabs the mic, and he grins. He's wearing engineer boots, tight black jeans that have been attacked with a razor, a turtleneck, and a leather jacket covered in zippers and studs.

"Ready?" he growls, the fierce blonde drummer clicking her sticks together over her head as the scarred bassist poises his hands on the strings, "let's go." They become a wall of sound, wild, snarling vocals and thundering drums with smooth, insinuating bass to fill the gaps.

Charles will be the first to admit that he doesn't really understand the musical traditions at play here, but he knows whether or not music makes him want to dance, and this does. He's way too restrained for the jumping and thrashing that overtakes everyone else, but he can't stay still, either. He jams away as best he can in his own little corner, and catches what lyrics he can. He'll look them up for the paper, but catches the gist now. Magneto's songs are about defiance, about being wounded and wearing the scars with pride, and about the black comedy of everyday life. They also perform a few covers of gems such as 'Too Drunk To Fuck,' 'Soup Is Good Food,' and, in honor of the Christmas season, 'Oi To The World.' 

"Even though I'm Jewish," Erik says, "I'd like to wish all you bastards a merry Christmas."

Charles feels a strange tension in his stomach as the song goes on, despite its upbeat ska-influenced goodness, and realizes that there has been another quiet influx of people. They're giving off bad vibes, and he's not saying that out loud to Raven so he doesn't have to hear about being a temporally-displaced flower child. He doesn't know why, but he's suddenly sure they're here to ruin things. They're just a bunch of guys with shaved heads and the same leather jackets as everyone else, but something about them is making his skin crawl. And then he catches sight of a swastika armband.

The band notices before the end of the song, and the tension ratchets up in the quiet after. There are a lot more of them than Charles had realized, and the tension in his belly tightens into a queasy knot. There's a whole phalanx of neo-Nazis right at the front, and Lensherr has murder in his eyes. They start to shove people and jeer, and the band launches into something that is presumably called 'Nazi Punks Fuck Off,' judging by its most frequent lyric. It's an admirably bold response, but Charles isn't very surprised when all that shoving turns into a brawl. A moment after that one of them storms the stage, only to get an engineer boot to the gut, a knee to the teeth, and a free trip back to the floor, where he stumbles, falls, and rolls away lick his wounds under one of the benches. Lensherr is _still singing_ and Charles is wondering if he's actually an insane person, and whether or not that affects his attraction to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik refuses to run from some fucking kids in swastikas, but he's just fine with running from the police. His escape route takes him past a cute boy in a tweed jacket, who's dodging punches and frantically trying to reason with the beast after his blood. Erik grabs the boy by his jacket, hauls him out of the way, and busts his attacker in the eye with all his strength, making him fall back. He has to swat a few more aside but they get out the side door before the cops can put anyone on it, and Erik keeps a death grip on the jacket as they run at top speed through a muddy culvert and across a vacant lot. They reach a fence and Erik boosts the boy over it without a word, climbing up after him and jumping down.

"I think we can walk along like law-abiding citizens now," he pants, and Erik nods.

"Yeah. Probably. You okay?"

He sniffles. "I think my nose is bleeding, but not a lot. You?"

"Just some bruises."

"I really do admire the stylish way in which you handled that situation."

Erik laughs, realizing how cute this boy really is as they reach a streetlight. "You've got a black eye coming too, it looks like," Erik says, as they stop to fully take stock of themselves.

"I'm glad I still have my phone and my keys," he says. Erik makes similar discoveries about himself, wincing. He's going to be a mess if he doesn't get himself iced down.

"Hey," Erik says, as the boy pulls his tweed jacket straight, "come back to my place. Get some ice on that."

"...You don't even know my name."

"...I don't, do I?"

He grins, thrusting out an eager hand. "Charles Xavier."

Erik takes it, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Erik Lensherr." 

He lives nearby, which is one reason for accepting such a crappy venue. They had been able to walk over, and now he and Charles are able to limp back. Most of his furniture is improvised, but he keeps the place clean, and his mattress atop two wood pallets is neatly made. Charles sits on it because there isn't anywhere else, and Erik goes to the freezer and hauls out two bags of ice. He keeps a lot on hand because frozen margaritas are a consolation of his life, and now he's able to fill multiple sandwich bags, passing the first few to Charles, along with a box of tissues. Once he has enough for himself he limps over to sit beside Charles, hissing as he shucks his jacket and presses the ice to his bruises.

"Oh," Charles says, blinking at him. "I didn't realize it was sleeveless."

"I tore them off because they made me too hot."

"What does your tattoo say?"

People always ask this, because it's in Yiddish. "Kas vekheyme makhn a mentshn far a beheyme," Erik says, "basically 'anger makes a man a beast,' or something." It's also right where his grandfather's faded number had been.

"It's beautiful," Charles says softly. They sit in silence for a while after that, holding ice to their various contusions. "Does this happen a lot?" Charles asks, tipping onto his back on top of Erik's army blanket.

"Sometimes. It's been a while. ...Come to think of it, what were you even doing there?"

Charles laughs. "I'm supposed to write an anthropology paper about it."

This strikes Erik as about a thousand times funnier than it really should, and he laughs until he coughs. "Oh my fucking god, of course you were!" He lies down beside Charles and sighs to a stop. "Flip a coin for who gets the first shower?"

"It's very good of you to offer, and I believe I will take you up on it. But you can go first." He smiles in a way that makes Erik suddenly and completely wish that Charles was on his bed for other reasons, and he flees to the bathroom. He's a little shaky with spent adrenaline, and leans against the tiled wall, using lukewarm water so there will be some hot left for his guest. He does not jerk off in the shower. The drain can be balky, and he last thing he wants to do is gross Charles out. Instead he cranks it all the way to cold, mercilessly blasting himself before stepping out and wrapping up in a towel.

Charles is standing there shirtless, studying Erik's posters and looking so perfect that Erik longs to bite him. He turns and smiles, eyes flicking down to Erik's feet and then back up. Erik feels wild and conflicting impulses, wanting to pin Charles down and to kneel at his feet. He settles for muttering something about clean towels and sitting on his bed. Outside the wind picks up and a few drops of rain patter on the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best with Erik's tattoo. Anyone who knows any Yiddish should please tell me if that's a flawed transliteration or means 'this dish cheap but very tasty' or whatever.


	3. Chapter 3

Charles is glad to get clean, even if the hot water runs out and leaves him shivering so hard he's afraid his chattering teeth will chip each other. The rain has picked up substantially, thundering down in sheets and rattling the windows as he comes shuffling out of the bathroom. The main room is cooler now, and Erik is bed, buried in blankets. He sets his phone and a little notebook aside when he sees Charles, and sighs.

"I tried to leave you some hot water," he says, lifting the edge of the bedclothes. "Come here."

Charles laughs quietly, teeth chattering, and then he's swarming up to Erik's side, basking in the heat of his skin. Erik pulls him close, rubbing his back with warm hands. It's strange, feeling this comfortable with him already, but Charles likes being in his arms, and is comforted by his heartbeat. They fit together and the silence isn't awkward.

Charles loosely loops his fingers around Erik's wrist, the text just visible to him on Erik's forearm. It's not the only one. Earlier Charles caught a glimpse of a shark on his upper back, and the Magneto emblem on his neck. "Do you mind if I ask more about your tattoos?" 

"I just won't answer if I don't want to," Erik murmurs, lazily sliding his ankle up and down Charles's shin.

"Okay." He turns his head and kisses the words, and Erik shivers. 

"I'll keep that in mind," he whispers. "This one. What does it mean to you?"

"...I'm still a pretty angry person, but it was a lot worse when I got that." He chuckles even as he tightens his hold on Charles. "I was underage, but I found a guy who'd do it anyway."

"Did something happen?" Charles asks, and Erik shivers, clinging to him.

"Fuck, that's what my mother said." There's a long silence and at first Charles thinks this is Erik not answering, but then he speaks again. "I got kidnapped. When I was about thirteen."

"Jesus, _Erik_..."

"I don't talk about it a lot, because people get that look like it made me gay." He snorts. "I was already gay, and that's why I was such easy pickings." Charles feels sick to his stomach and has no idea what to say, just holding Erik tight "He was a registered sex offender under an assumed name, and liked to find and groom gay boys until he could take them away somewhere and get on with the rape and murder. I rescued myself and got him rearrested and it made me fucking angry, but it didn't make me gay."

"Erik..."

"It's okay," he says softly, kissing the top of Charles's head and shifting his arm so he can see the tattoo better. "I got that when I was sixteen, because it was something my grandfather used to say to me. It's where it is because he was a Holocaust survivor, and that's where his number was."

Charles can't think of anything to say, so he just kisses it again and presses against Erik, who sighs and pulls him half onto himself, almost using Charles as another blanket "The shark?" he asks, after a long and surprisingly peaceful silence.

"Mm. People say I remind them of a shark, and it seemed like a good protective symbol. And the whole band has the Magneto M."

"Oh, are your friends all right?" Charles feels guilty for forgetting them that long, but Erik just smiles at him.

"Yeah, they called while you were in the shower. Emma got them a hotel room, and our equipment is fine."

"That's good."

"Were you liking the gig before those assholes showed up?"

"Immensely. The three of you really are very good."

Erik chuckles. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"That's nice to know." He nuzzles Erik's chest. "It's also really nice to be here. Like this, I mean."

"Yeah," he says softly, and tips Charles's chin up so he can lean down and press a kiss to his mouth. It's slow and sweet, nothing like Charles would have expected at the beginning of the night. He sighs into it and for a long time they just breathe together, everything soft and warm against the chill of the room and the brutal rain outside. Erik sighs and cuddles Charles, their towels slowly but surely slipping down.

"Uh..." Charles can't say anything more intelligent than that as the unbearably soft skin of Erik's cock brushes his thigh.

"I'm okay if you are," Erik murmurs, lipping the edge of Charles's ear and making him tremble.

"Okay." He pulls the towels out of the way, dropping them to the floor beside the bed and meshing his thighs with Erik's, moaning under his breath as they make contact. Erik whines, and pulls Charles completely on top of him, shuddering as Charles ruts against him. "Like that?"

"Fffuck... _yes_." He growls a little as Charles grinds on him, and then starts fumbling in the sideways milk crate that serves him as a bedside table.

"More?" Charles asks.

"Yeah," Erik says, long arm retracting into their warmth with a pair of condoms and a tube of lube. "Okay?"

"Definitely okay."


	4. Chapter 4

"Be gentle with me," Erik says, and a lot of people would assume he was at least half joking. Charles just says he will, serious and intent as he gazes into Erik's eyes. And then he's touching Erik's hole with slippery fingers and Erik has to close his eyes and just breathe. This is the best, even if it's terrifyingly close. Charles takes his time with it, just rubbing and sliding, pressing reverent little kisses to Erik's face. People have been surprised by the way Erik is willing to just melt, but Charles takes it in stride, kissing Erik's mouth and swallowing up his helpless little moans.

"Sweet," Charles murmurs, "you're so goddamn sweet, oh, Erik..." He slips just the tip of his first finger in at last, and Erik moans and feels himself blush, always a little embarrassed by how responsive he is. Charles smiles and nuzzles his cheek, working him open in a gentle circle and then pushing deeper, forcing little voiced sighs out of him as fast as he can draw breath. "And this is just one finger." Charles sounds dazed, and nuzzles into the side of Erik’s neck, licking the M and then sucking gently on the skin above it. "God, _Erik_..."

Erik can't do anything but react, whimpering and cooing his pleasure as he clings to Charles and returns his kisses with helpless hunger. There have been other nights in his life, nights full of bared teeth and vicious fingernails, but really, this is what Erik likes best. Nothing asked of him but the insane feat of trust that opening his body to another person is. He cries out when Charles pushes a second finger in and kisses him desperately so he'll know that that high, broken noise was a good one.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Charles breathes, sucking lightly just under the corner of Erik's jaw. Erik whines and clenches around Charles's fingers, hard and automatic.

"More," he whimpers, and cries out when Charles complies, the sound loud and shaky. Charles whimpers and kisses him again, tongue fucking along Erik's.

"I can't... Erik, I can't take much more of this," Charles gasps, and Erik shudders, cupping his head in his hands and kissing him, sloppy and a little rough, biting his lower lip as he pulls away.

"Fuck me," he growls, and Charles scrambles to roll on a condom and slick it up. He's a good size, thicker than his three fingers, but not by too much, and Erik moans deep in his chest as Charles slides into him. There's not even a twinge of pain, and Charles stops more for himself than for Erik, shaking and panting over him for a long moment before sinking as deep as he can and groaning. It's a long, low, rolling sound, and Erik shudders, wrapping his legs around Charles's hips and clutching at his shoulders as he quickly picks up speed. He fucks Erik deep and fast, but not too hard. They rock together on the mattress, pallets creaking under them, and Charles doesn't touch Erik's cock until the very end, stroking him with a gentle assurance that coaxes him over the edge almost before he realizes that it's happening. He gasps and shakes and squeezes Charles tight, holding him as he grunts and moans and shatters, making a few last arrhythmic thrusts before collapsing. He's not very heavy, so Erik just rubs his back and sighs, breathing in the scent of his hair.

They doze for a minute or two, and then Charles hops up to throw away the condom and get a sort of warm washcloth to clean up with. "The hot water is always the first thing on my list of reasons I should fucking move," Erik tells him, and he laughs.

"It is pretty terrible. Has anyone actually tried fixing it?"

"I have. I think it's less a mechanical problem and more that the water heater is sentient and that it hates. It hates like ice in the heart of Dante's inferno."

Charles laughs, setting the rag aside and cuddling into Erik's arms, skin chilled. "I'm glad I have you to keep me warm, then."

Erik's stomach growls, and he makes an irritated noise. "I'm going to have to get up. It's not fair, Charles."

"Truly, a hideous injustice," Charles murmurs, and they lie there for a while longer before Erik leaps up, plunging into the cold all at once and pulling on his crumpled jeans and the massive purple sweater that Emma gave him two Hanukkahs ago. Thus fortified, he can make his way over to the kitchen and start a pot of chicken soup. The rain has eased a little, but it's still definitely soup weather. He makes it his mother's way, with schmaltz and matzoh balls, and finds himself explaining the whole process to Charles when he gets up to join him, wrapped in Erik's ragged bathrobe. 

Once the soup is simmering, Erik makes the bed again so they have somewhere to sit, and when it's done they eat off their knees and listen to the rain, warm because they're together.


End file.
